


Galactic Empire

by Merayi



Series: TransFormation [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexic Kylo (implied), Armitage Hux is a Jerk, Awkward Crush, Background Organa-Solo Family Trouble, Crush at First Sight, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hux Gets What He Deserves, Hux is a Transphobe, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Poe and Finn are Adorable, Rey is a badass, Some Humor, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Kylo Ren, Transphobia, Transphobic Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merayi/pseuds/Merayi
Summary: There is a metal band called Galactic Empire. They happen to be Finn's guilty pleasure, so when the band tours through their town, Finn drags his friends along to the gig. While there, Rey accidentally barges into the middle of a hate-crime-in-progress, and saves a young trans woman.





	Galactic Empire

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning/Content Warning:  
> Descriptions of Hate Crime  
> Homophobic and Transphobic Language  
> Gendered Violence  
> Casual Swearing

The glowing numbers on her phone screen read ‘12:15’, only five minutes after she had last checked. Rey could have sworn that time entered a unique paradox inside the four brick walls of the cheap bar. It didn't seem to be passing at all. More than that, all the sights and smells and sounds that should have engulfed her senses upon entering and then gotten easier to deal with had instead gotten exponentially more overwhelming as the night went on.  
  
The doors were all thrown wide open, and cigarette smoke billowed in from the courtyard, acrid and stinging. Combined with the odours of unwashed bodies, stale booze and greasy bar food, it created a stench that clung to the back of Rey’s mouth with every breath. Smoke and dry ice hung thick in the air. Glaring lights flashed and flickered from the stage. Beams swept across the gyrating crowd like lasers: red, blue, green, purple. Strobes made her eyes and head ache. Bodies crushed in on her from all sides, limbs of all sizes and shapes flailing and thrashing along to noise that she wasn’t sure really counted as music at all. Rey was not a short woman, but still the elbows of taller people around her were perilously close to her face.  
  
Somewhere in that mass of debauched humanity, the well-meaning friend that had dragged her along to this gig was probably grinding on his boyfriend and calling it dancing. Yup, looking over the crowd, it wasn’t too hard to spot them… dancing. Rey averted her eyes.  
  
Ugh. Of all the ways she wanted to spend her Friday night, seeing a Star Wars-themed heavy metal band that called themselves Galactic Empire, of all things, was not in her top twenty. Hell, it wasn’t even in her top 200!  
  
She checked her phone again. 12:18. Only… 42 minutes left until they could get the fuck outta here. /Dammit, Finn! I love you, but why am I here?/  
  
A drunk guy collected the side of Rey’s head with a wind-milling arm, and she decided she had had enough. /When in doubt/, she thought, /escape to the ladies’ room and hope for the best./ She would be swapping the cigarette smell for public bathroom smell, but at least it would be quiet, and there wouldn’t be as many people. Plenty of friends had warned her that it wasn’t a good habit, though, that all manner of predators hung out by the ladies’ room to assault unsuspecting women, but Rey could hold her own. She had been doing Aikido for over a decade; she was a black belt now. She had never had a problem.  
  
That was to change tonight. As Rey walked toward the grotty, stinking corridor where the bathrooms were, she heard raised voices coming from around the corner, one high and scared, the other pompous and cruel.  
  
“Stop! Don’t touch me!”  
  
Rey picked up her pace. That Aikido training might come in handy, just as her mom said it would.  
  
“But, Ben, I thought you dressed up like a pretty, little girl so that men would touch you. I mean, just look at how hard you are.” The voice was accented, upper-class, British, with clipped consonants and posh vowels. "How can you say you don't want this, you little fag?"  
  
“Don’t deadname me!” For the first time, the first voice had fire in it. “Don’t you dare-”  
  
“Ben, Ben, Ben, such spirit from such a little twink. Is that any way to talk to the son of the man who can get your mother fired?” The laughter in that threat made Rey’s blood boil.  
  
“You mean the man whose tried for over five years to get my mother fired and hasn’t managed it yet?” Even at a disadvantage, the owner of the first voice fought back, fierce and furious.  
  
There was the sound of a slap, a cry, a laugh, a scream.  
  
“Your mother should have had you put down like the monster you are,” the second voice spat, “instead of just kicking you out.”  
  
"She didn't kick me out!"  
  
Rey skidded around the corner.  
  
Two identical burly, blond boys had a tall girl pinned against the wall between them, while a thin, pallid boy with slicked-back red hair gripped her crotch under her short skirt. The girl’s unusually-broad shoulders were curled in on themselves, like she was trying to make herself as small a target as possible. A tangled curtain of long, black hair hid her face from Rey’s view. Her crying echoed down the corridor.  
  
Without thinking, Rey shot forward and wedged herself between abuser and victim, shoving the boy away, flinging her arms out, shielding the shaking girl behind her. The twin thugs stepped back.  
  
Rey faced down the red-headed sleazebag who seemed to be the ringleader. Even if she hadn’t heard what he had just said, even without the thin-lipped sneer, something about him radiated arrogance and coldness. Without breaking his glare, she noted the perfectly-tailored suit jacket, the expensive, brand-name jeans, the gold Rolex watch. Rich and cruel. She wasn’t scared of fuckers like him.  
  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rey yelled, “Leave her alone. Now!”  
  
“You mean /him/?” the bastard sneered, “/It/? That /thing/ behind you?”  
  
“I don’t care what fucking pronouns they use. I don’t care what fucking pronouns /xe/ uses! Fuck off. Now.”  
  
“Or what?” A perfect, red eyebrow arched. “Or a SJW will cry? You aren’t really going to risk yourself by sticking up for a little tranny freak, are you? This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Walk away now, and you’ll be fine. I really don’t have the energy to deal with Feminazis as well as freaks.”  
  
Rey was furious. She could hear the girl’s teeth chattering behind her, could practically feel the fear coming from her in waves. She wasn’t letting this shit stain get away with this.  
  
“I am warning you,” Rey snarled, her arms flung wide, “Fuck off, or you'll deal with me!”  
  
“Sweetheart.” Lips that sneered slurs so easily should not defile endearments like that. “I hate to remind you, but there are three of us, and one of you, and my father is a Lieutenant General.” He pronounced it ‘lef-tenant’. When he continued speaking, all humour had left his voice. “If you lay a grubby finger on me, I will make sure you will spend the rest of your days in a jail cell. Your tenacity in trying to protect freaks is remarkable, but really, the game is over. Get out of my fucking way."  
  
He tried to push past her. Rey blocked his way. He raised his hand as if to hit her, and left it hanging threateningly above her head.  
  
"You think I'm joking, little girl?" he sneered, "Maybe I should put in a way you'll understand: Run along now. Go play somewhere else! Bu-bye!”  
  
Rey had given him a warning. Her roundhouse kick connected squarely with the red-head’s nose. She heard the satisfying crunch of bone. He screamed, hands flailing as he tried to stop the blood that gushed down his perfect, pressed button-down.  
  
Tears and blood streaming down his face, he motioned vaguely, and his twin thugs rounded on Rey. They lumbered toward her, one from each side.  
  
Rey sized them up. Big, but heavy and slow. Broad shoulders, bulky muscles, thick necks. Not trained fighters; they held their weight all wrong. She stayed dead still until they were almost on top of her, before crouching down low and throwing her arms out. Her knuckles smashed squarely into their crotches. As both boys doubled over, she ducked behind one, kicking the backs of his knees so he tumbled forward into the other. They hit the floor together. Both stayed down, whimpering. It was a cheap shot, but when you were small and outnumbered, no one said you had to fight fair.  
  
Rey turned back to the red-headed ringleader. Blood bubbled angrily from his nose.  
  
“Or what?” she repeated, “Or I kick your ass. Now. Fuck. Off.”  
  
“My father will hear of this!” he blustered.  
  
Rey took a gamble.  
  
“Yeah? Your father will hear of how a girl half your size made you cry? Your father will hear of how a street rat beat your ass? Your father will hear of how a drunkard whore’s brat broke you nose? All because you wanted to touch a…” she faltered over the slur, “a… a tranny’s cock in in the bathroom of a cheap bar? And you called /her/ a fag!”  
  
“Cunt!” The boy spat a mouthful of blood at the ground and stalked off. His two cronies stumbled to their feet and hobbled after him. They left the metallic smell of blood hanging in the corridor behind them.  
  
Rey turned back to the girl. For the first time, she got a good look at the person she had… she had rescued.  
  
The girl had slumped to the floor, arms wrapped around herself, tremors running down her body and through her limbs. Even curled up tight, it was clear she was tall, and her nearly-emaciated body was wiry with lean, sparse muscle under her torn stockings, punk skirt, and loose tank top. The tank top was black, with a graphic of Darth Vader on it, and it hung a few inches above her skirt, revealing a pale, gaunt belly. Above the neckline was a reflective glint – silicone prosthetics, held in place with some kind of adhesive that Rey could see peeling away at the corners.  
  
The girl tried to cover her crotch, as subtly as she could, crossing her skinny legs. The outline of a penis was clear under her skirt. Rey remembered the way the boys had groped her, and pity made her eyes sting angrily. She kept her gaze on the girl’s face. She couldn’t even imagine that level of violation. She shouldn’t know what was under a total stranger’s skirt. Those boys had taken this girl’s autonomy from her in the worst way.  
  
Rey should have left that shit stain with more than just a broken nose. She looked at what he had done to this girl, and she wanted to kill him.  
  
The girl looked up at Rey warily with big, dark eyes, rimmed with thick, smudgy liner and clumped mascara, as if daring her to say something. She looked terrified and angry and humiliated. Black make-up streaked her pale, hollow cheeks and down her slender neck in smeared tear-tracks; her bottom lip trembled. Her long face was framed by shoulder-length, black hair that hung in loose, voluminous waves. She had strong features that Rey tried not to think of as masculine: a high forehead that gave her an aristocratic bearing; a long, aquiline nose; pronounced ears; high cheekbones; plush, pillowy lips messily painted deep red; a firm jaw, currently clenched tight. Despite her boniness, despite her fright, she was beautiful.  
  
Rey mentally slapped herself for noticing that. Now was so not the time.  
  
For nearly a full minute, the two girls stared at each other wordlessly.  
  
Rey didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to make things worse. She could tell this girl didn’t want pity, and she was scared of coming across patronizing or saying something transphobic without meaning to. She had seen it happen often enough, with well-meaning people who managed to put their foot in their mouth upon learning her friends were gay.  
  
Finally, Rey sighed. What she had seen happen to the girl was enough to leave anyone traumatized and shaken, and she had just proved herself to be a potential threat by beating that cruel, little shitbag and both his goons single-handed, so she figured going with gentle was better, even if just at first.  
  
So, Rey squatted down about two metres away, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. She turned her hands palm-up, making it clear she was empty-handed and unarmed.  
  
“Hey there. Are you alright? Are you hurt? Those thugs are gone now. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”  
  
“Thank you.” The girl’s voice was reserved, falsetto-high, and she couldn’t quite mask the shaking. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Can I ask your name? My name’s Rey.”  
  
“Kyla.”  
  
“It’s good to meet you, Kyla,” Rey replied, trying to keep her tone as even and soft and soothing as possible, trying not to scare the girl more. “Though, I admit it would have been better to meet you under different circumstances. Do you wanna go talk to the bouncers to report what happened?” Rey caught the flash of… something that she didn’t have a word for that flickered across Kyla’s face. “It’s okay if you don’t. It’s entirely your choice.”  
  
Kyla shook her head, shrugging.  
  
“The bouncers can’t do anything, not really. He’ll just come back when they aren’t around.”  
  
“Well, I think he’ll have to get his nose put back together before he tries again!”  
  
Kyla smiled, but something in her eyes made Rey pause. It was a look she recognized, a look she had held in her own eyes for a long time: vulnerability and pain badly masked under hostility and indifference, a look that screamed “I’M FINE” so loud that no one heard the cries for help underneath it. Rey recognized, too, the clothes that made people stare but stopped them from looking too closely. Not for the first time, she felt a wave of pity flood her. She had an awful feeling that this girl was desperately lonely and didn’t have many people she could let down her guard around.  
  
“Do… do you just want a hug?” Rey offered. Her words tumbled over each other, desperate not to be creepy, “Only if you think it might make you feel better. I understand completely if someone touching you the last thing you want right now, though. There’s no pressure at all, one way or another. I just know that hugs make me feel better, so I thought I might offer….” Rey knew she was babbling. She made herself shut up.  
  
Kyla’s bottom lip trembled, and she nodded. Carefully, Rey wrapped her arms around the girl's brittle body, resting her cheek on the top of her head, rocking her back and forth, making soft ‘sshhh’ sounds.  
  
“Hey, you’re safe. You’re safe.”  
  
Like a dam breaking, tears flooded as the terror and the strain finally caught up. Rey felt Kyla’s bony hands clutch fistfuls of her cardigan, her shoulders heaving as she gulped for air. Rey rubbed her back, feeling the sharp juts of shoulder blades under her hands, the bumps of individual vertebra, the smooth curves of ribs. She felt so frail in Rey’s arms. Jesus. The girl needed a doctor.  
  
“I just wanted to go out and hear my favourite band!” Kyla howled with surprising ferocity, her face muffled in the curve of Rey’s shoulder, “Is that too much to fucking ask?! Just one night that I could wear pretty clothes and do my make-up and feel sexy! One night I could dance and have fun and forget about all of this shit! Is it too much to ask to be allowed to feel normal for one fucking night?! Is it that fucking offensive to the whole fucking galaxy that I exist?!”  
  
Kyla’s voice cracked. She punched her spindly thigh angrily.  
  
“Why did /he/ have to be here?! Why the fuck was he here? I moved out of my home to get away from all that bullshit! I hate him. I HATE HIM! I hate him and his rich father, and I hate my parents, and I hate the whole fucking world that lets people like him beat me up and people that are supposed to be my family be ashamed of me. Oh,” she let out a hollow, broken laugh. It sounded more like a snarl, “They say they aren’t ashamed of me. They say they love me. But, I know. I see their faces when I go anywhere dressed like /this/." She gestured at her short skirt and torn stockings. "I found the pamphlet on transgender conversion therapy. I know they think that there’s something wrong with me. Mom wants to ‘change the world’, and her chance of getting elected is shot to shit with a kid like me. It is a ‘conflict of interest’ if her own… her own daughter is a political buzzword, a Tumblr gender, a SWJ talking point.”  
  
At that, words dissolved into tears, and Kyla howled. The sound was raw. Rey held her closer, the distraught keening going straight through her to dig into her heart.  
  
Rey could feel tears soaking into her shirt, and she knew there would be a hell of a make-up stain, but she didn’t care. She stroked Kyla’s hair. The curls were thick and silky-soft. Rey worked out the tangles with her fingers, as gently as she could.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kyla sobbed, “I don’t… I don’t usually…. That’s way more information than you needed a total stranger to tell you….”  
  
“Sshhh. It’s okay. You take all the time you need. I’ll stay here for as long as you need me to.”  
  
“You sure?” Kyla looked up at Rey, her dark eyebrows furrowed. “I mean… There isn’t that much of the gig left, and….”  
  
Rey laughed.  
  
“I am not a huge fan of Galactic Empire; I'm here coz my friends are. Hell, I only went to the bathroom to escape the noise.”  
  
“Thank you.” Kyla buried into her side. A shudder ran through her whole body.  
  
Rey didn’t know how long she sat there, holding the sobbing girl, but her ears and toes had gone numb in the drafty corridor, and her knees had started aching before Kyla took a shaky breath and tried to compose herself. Her make-up had almost entirely run, making her resemble a very skinny panda.  
  
“I’m so sorry.” Dark eyes stayed fixed on the grubby, sticky floor. Rey followed her gaze to the bloody stains from the red-headed bastard’s broken nose. It still smelled.  
  
“It’s alright.” Rey kept an arm looped around the girl’s shoulders. She paused. “Hey, you’re shaking. Do you want my jacket?”  
  
When Kyla nodded tentatively, Rey shrugged off the jacket – a big, roomy, draped cardigan thing made of a soft, brown fabric – and folded it around the girl’s broad, bony shoulders, tucking it around her, and pulling the hood over her loose, dark curls.  
  
“There.” Suddenly, reality hit Rey over the head, and she stopped. “Hey, you probably wanna get the hell out of here now, eh? Do you have a safe way to get home? My friends and I can give you a lift if you need.”  
  
Kyla shook her head again, averting her eyes.  
  
“I walked here. I can walk home. It's not that far. I’ll be fine. Really. You don’t have to give me a ride or anything. You’ve done heaps for me already.” She scooted back and started shrugging off Rey’s jacket, her shoulders curling in again. Her movements were rushed, hasty. She seemed suddenly desperate to get away.  
  
Rey sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear awkwardly.  
  
“Look, I want to promise you now that I’m not helping you because I want something, or because I think you will owe me, or because I would take advantage of you, or because I pity you, or because it makes me feel better to help a trans woman.”  
  
Kyla stopped, giving her a guarded look. The kohl-smudged skin around her dark eyes tightened, almost imperceptibly. Rey felt like this girl had spent much of her life having to be constantly suspicious and untrusting. She continued.  
  
“I’m helping you because it would be irresponsible for me to see anyone go through what you just went through, and then walk away and do nothing, coz the same thing has happened to me. I can’t stand men like that little red-headed shit, and honestly? I wish I could leave more bigots like him with broken noses. You owe me nothing. There are no strings attached to any help I offer. I don’t expect anything from in return, and if you offer anything, I’m going to decline. I SWEAR I will decline. Okay? If you need a ride home, I promise you that you will get home safe, and you will be left in peace. You are under no obligation to take it, but there is the offer of my friends and I giving you a ride home. My friend’s boyfriend has a car and his full licence. I know he’ll be okay with it.”  
  
“Boyfriend?” Kyla’s eyes went flat and scared again. “Are you sure he won’t…” she gestured to her body vaguely, “… won’t hate me?”  
  
“My friend and /his/ boyfriend are African American and Latinx, respectively. They know about being a minority, and being hated for it, and them being my friends won't stop me from calling them out if they say rubbish. If they say anything to you, well…” Rey laughed lightly, “I can be an equal-opportunity ass-kicker. I’m bi after all; I’m an equal-opportunity human, really.” Rey stopped, and slapped a palm over her eyes, realizing how badly that could be taken. “Fuck! That doesn’t mean… I’m so sorry… I’m not… I’m not trying to…. Now is not the time to flirt. I mean… I wouldn’t flirt with you now, not after… And not because you’re… you know… Oh, fuck!” Rey stamped her foot petulantly. “This is not coming out at all right! I’m so sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable! Ugh. Why do I open my mouth at all… other than to just switch what foot is in there?”  
  
The girl gave her a half-hearted smile, but her eyes still betrayed hesitance.  
  
“It’s okay. I understand what you mean.”  
  
“That makes one of us.” Rey huffed, before catching Kyla’s dark-eyed gaze. “There I was, thinking I was doing so well at this words thing. Again, I promise - PROMISE - that I am not going to take advantage of you in any way. I will not hurt you. You owe me nothing.”  
  
If Rey hadn’t been watching closely, she would have missed the tentative nod, the tiniest amount of tension loosened from Kyla’s wiry muscles. She had never seen the moment someone decided to trust before. She blinked away tears that she didn’t understand.  
  
Rey stood, holding out her hands to pull Kyla to her feet. Despite her height, she weighed next to nothing.  
  
Awkwardly, Rey motioned to her own neckline. The other girl understood, tugging her tank top up to cover the shiny surface of the prosthetics.  
  
Together, the two girls walked back down the corridor and into the dim, smoky miasma of the bar room.  
  
This time, the array of sights and smells and sounds did feel like a slap to the senses. The stink that Rey drew in with her breath went from nasty public bathroom and blood to equally nasty cigarette smoke and cheap beer. The lights from the stage flashed even brighter now, strobes making the world move in slow motion around them as they walked to the edge of the dance floor. It felt a little like walking into a drunk kaleidoscope.  
  
A mosh pit had formed on the dance floor, making the most of Galactic Empire’s final head-banger. The lead vocal’s growling rumbled straight through her. The guitar screamed. Every time the cymbals crashed, Rey felt like the drummer was hitting her over the head rather than the drum kit.  
  
At the sight of the mass of humanity, Kyla stiffened. Without thinking, Rey took her hand and squeezed tight. Kyla squeezed back, her grip dry, strong, but still trembly. Despite her skinniness, her long, bony fingers dwarfed Rey’s shorter, grubbier ones.  
  
Rey looked down at their twined hands. Kyla’s fingernails were beautifully clean and manicured, painted swirly red and black. It occurred to Rey that those slim, clean hands were more ‘feminine’ than hers were. Hers were rough and calloused and cracked from mechanic work, and still had engine grease so deeply ingrained into the lines that it felt like they would never be perfectly clean again. She wondered what this feminine, punk-rocker girl thought, holding her hand. She didn’t seem to mind too much. Though, Rey thought sullenly, if she was in Kyla’s shoes, and her choice was between that transphobic bastard and a weird girl with dirty hands, it wouldn’t really be much of a choice.  
  
“So,” Rey had to lean over and speak directly into Kyla’s ear to be heard above the music, “I guess our choices are either wait for this song to finish and then find my friend and his boyfriend, or dive into the mosh and haul them out.”  
  
Kyla eyed the writhing, thrashing bodies. She leaned back to reply. Her lips brushed the shell of Rey’s ear.  
  
“The set’s almost over. I think it would be better to wait.”  
  
Rey only realized when the music stopped, and the crowd started cheering and screaming, that she was still holding Kyla’s hand. She didn’t know what to think of that.  
  
The band finished. Pack up began. The crowd started to disperse.  
  
Through the hordes of people, there was a glimpse of two familiar heads. Even though neither her friend nor his boyfriend were particularly tall men, it was easy to spot them among the crowd, if for no other reason than they were among the very few black and brown faces there, and among even fewer men openly holding hands.  
  
It almost amused Rey; Galactic Empire was a metal band mostly liked by the kind of entitled, toxic punks and fanboys that gave the rest a bad name, but yet she had managed to find among one gig venue of their fans: a bisexual African American man, a pansexual Latinx man, and a trans woman. She allowed herself a small, smug grin. Fuckers like that red-headed bigot couldn’t pretend people like Kyla and Finn and Poe didn’t exist. Even with the threats, the harassment, the aggression, they couldn’t just drive minorities out.  
  
Rey made a beeline for her friend and his boyfriend, still holding tight to Kyla’s hand for fear of being separated in the crowd. She had to scream to even hear her own voice above the din. Ugh. She would be lucky if she could speak at all in the morning.  
  
“Finn! Poe! Hey, Finn!”  
  
“REY!” Finn cheered, running at her at full speed through the crowd. He picked her up, swinging her around in a wobbly circle, before setting her on her feet again at her insistence. Rey could smell the beer on his breath. She rolled her eyes. At least Finn just got giggly and happy and nonsensical when plastered. “Did ya like the gig? Did ya? I liked the gig. I missed you in the mosh pit, though.”  
  
“Yeah, thanks, Finn.”  
  
Back on solid - if sticky - ground, she took Kyla’s hand again as the other girl tried to hide behind her. Given Kyla’s height, and Rey’s tininess, it was not working well.  
  
“Rey!” Poe hailed with a mock salute, draping himself on her shoulder with all the flamboyance he could muster, “How’s our favourite girl?”  
  
“In need of your help, and urgently, so if you aren’t really as drunk as you are pretending to be, please sober up now.”  
  
Poe blinked. Rey would usually make a quippy reply to the boys asking how their favourite girl was; her brusqueness took him aback.  
  
“Hey?” Finn asked, leaning on Poe’s shoulder, “Who’s your friend? I like her her shirt.”  
  
For the first time, Poe seemed to notice Kyla standing there.  
  
Suddenly, all pretense of drunkenness was gone. Rey breathed a sigh of relief. Poe was seldom actually as drunk as he acted, especially in town. He was bombastic and impulsive and crass, and he loved flaunting his rugged good looks and cute boyfriend both, but he always kept his wits about him. If only, Rey thought disparagingly, so he was never too far-gone to drive home. Mercifully, that was what she had been relying on.  
  
“Well, hello,” Poe said, looking up at Kyla, “What can we do for you?”  
  
Rey explained, as briefly and succinctly as she could, leaving out some of the gorier details. Finn and Poe were good friends, but they didn’t need to know everything.  
  
“That’s my girl!” Poe crowed, punching her shoulder proudly, “Beating up incels left, right, and centre!” He turned to Kyla, and inclined his head with a level of respect Rey had never seen him show before, “We would be honoured to be your taxi service for the night. Taxi fee is on the house for survivors and fellow LGBT people.”  
  
It was Kyla’s turn to blink. Rey nudged her with a hip.  
  
“Told you so,” she whispered in her ear.  
  
The group walked toward the bar’s exit, making introductions as they went. As they made it past the bouncers and down the cold, lonely street, Rey watched closely. She felt surprisingly overprotective of this stranger, this girl who she had literally butted into the life of. Much to her relief, even while varying levels of tipsy, both Finn and Poe were nothing but polite and respectful on the walk back to the car.  
  
Rey’s turn to blink came when the group turned the corner and Kyla caught sight of the car. Her dark eyes went wide, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to try to hold in the squeal of excitement.  
  
“YOU HAVE A MUSTANG?!?!”  
  
Poe grinned proudly, walking up to the gleaming, black beast of a car and running his hand along the paintwork.  
  
“Yup. A 1968 T-70 Mustang, end of the classic generation. It’s got Incom-FreiTek 4.9 litre fusial thrust V8 quad petrol engine, 350 bhp, KX12 4-speed transmission, the works. She’s my baby.”  
  
Kyla gave a low whistle, suddenly looking a lot more comfortable in the presence of Rey’s male friends. Her eyes had temporarily lost that empty look and had come alive with enthusiasm, and - dare Rey say - passion. She felt a spark of hopefulness. Maybe, those soft hands disguised something that they had in common. (Maybe, she could teach Rey how to get car grease from under her nails…)  
  
She would not have picked this girl as a petrolhead, and it reminded her with a kick that she didn’t really know much more about Kyla than that she was trans, had a not great relationship with her parents, and a red-headed shitbag had a vendetta against her.  
  
It would be nice to find out more about this mysterious, troubled girl, Rey thought, and not because she was mysterious and troubled… or just that she liked cars. She seemed like a good person to be friends with, and like she could use some friends herself. Could Rey ask to stay in touch when they dropped Kyla off? Would that be too awkward? Would Kyla like that? She could use Poe’s car as an excuse to ask, maybe? Or, maybe… Why hadn’t she thought of that before?! Perfect!  
  
Rey stopped herself. Since when did she befriend random girls in bar bathrooms? Since when did she feel overprotective of people who screamed not to be pitied? It was too confusing to continue going down that line of thought, so she called her attention back to the girl in question, who was still asking excited questions about the Mustang. Rey was content just to sit back and listen to Kyla and Poe chat. She watched the intensity burning in Kyla’s dancing eyes like fire, the way her hair fell over her shoulders when she leaned forward with such interest, how her brows furrowed over her long nose as she grilled Poe about the Mustang.  
  
No, those thoughts were even more confusing.  
  
“Top speed?” Kyla leaned against the window of a nearby store as Poe sat on the Mustang’s hood. They seemed to have forgotten the two other people with them completely.  
  
“140 mph.”  
  
“0-60?”  
  
“4 seconds.”  
  
“That’s not the usual specs for a Mustang, is it?” Kyla noted. Rey approved. She knew her stuff.  
  
“It has some of my own… special mods of... dubious legality.” Poe squinted with mock suspicion, leaning forward and tapping the side of his nose like a TV detective, “But, you didn’t hear that from me, and you can’t prove nothin’! The cops have checked this baby over twice, and haven’t found anything to the contrary.”  
  
As Kyla and Poe bonded over the Mustang, Finn leaned over to whisper in Rey’s ear.  
  
“Do you have any idea what they are talking about?” he asked. Rey laughed.  
  
“Car stuff.”  
  
“Well, I got that!” he whispered back, “It’s like they both speak another language. I have that same awful feeling I get when Poe’s around his parents, and they’re all speaking Spanish, and I have no idea what they are saying! I mean, I know Poe’s car’s super fancy, and he’s an awesome mechanic, and he’s made it real special, but V8, BHP, KX12? They’re talking in alphabet soup! Poe’s tried to explain it to me, but it’s totally a different language!”  
  
“Finn,” Rey reminded him, “I work in the same mechanic’s shop as Poe. It’s definitely not another language.”  
  
“Maybe not to you!” Finn huffed, “You try working as a janitor, and then we’ll talk.”  
  
“Janitors have jargon?”  
  
“/All/ jobs have their own jargon,” Finn stated, “Janitors have the only job where you don’t want a Christmas Delivery.”  
  
“Do I want to know?” Rey wrinkled her nose. She respected Finn’s old job as a janitor, but he had more awful work horror stories than her and Poe combined.  
  
“Vomit bag,” Finn replied cheerfully, “FULL vomit bag.”  
  
“I don’t want to know!”  
  
It took Finn snuggling close to Poe’s side, sticking his cold hands on his boyfriend’s belly under his shirt, and reminding him about the bitter, early autumn wind for the car doors to unlock. They all piled in, Poe in the driver’s seat, Kyla in the passenger’s seat next to him, to give directions and keep talking cars. Rey and Finn offered to sit in the back, where he happily told her about what she had missed at the gig. She had been so wrapped up in everything that had happened in the bar to even say a proper greeting to her friend. So, now, she listened attentively, enjoying the warm glow of delight that lit Finn’s whole being.  
  
Kyla directed them to the dingy, seedy part of town, to a dilapidated hostel made of many Lilliputian apartments tucked away in a long row down a alley. The bare, plaster walls were unpainted. The wooden window frames were warped and rotting. The smell was almost overpowering, even through the car vents.  
  
Kyla motioned to an empty park beside a dumpster, and Poe looked pained as he nosed the Mustang into the spot.  
  
“You live here?” Rey asked. The overprotective streak that she had been trying not to question screamed at her to whisk Kyla away and take her home with her friends. No one should be living here, especially no one as at-risk as the trans girl she had found being assaulted in a bar bathroom.  
  
“Yeah.” Kyla shrugged, “It’s a dump, but it’s more homey than home was.”  
  
As she went to get out of the car, the door to one of the tiny apartments opened, and a gigantesque figure appeared in the doorway. Easily well over six feet and very obviously powerfully built, they wore a shapeless, grey-wool sweater with a red stripe and straight-cut, black jeans. Their blond hair was cropped short and pushed back off their face messily, revealing a broad forehead and a straight nose. Their face was square, with a solid, round jaw, a thin-lipped scowl, and piercingly blue eyes.  
  
“Who the fuck is that?” Finn demanded. He had sobered up over the ride, and now sat up hastily from where he had been slouching in the back seat next to Rey. Kyla laughed.  
  
“That’s Phasma, my flatmate.”  
  
“Um…” Poe glanced at Kyla’s strong features, and then down to her prosthetics. Rey sensed he was figuring if he should ask the question she was thinking, too. “So… He? She? They? Xe? Something else?”  
  
“She,” Kyla confirmed, “She’s teaching me how to be a woman.”  
  
“Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick,” Poe swore, “She’s more manly-looking that I am!”  
  
Finn jabbed him in the ribs.  
  
“You can’t say shit like that!” he hissed at his boyfriend, “You don’t know jackshit about her. She’ll better at teaching someone to be a woman than we are!”  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Poe seemed offended, “Honey, I am a /queen/!”  
  
“Will you two shut up!” Rey seethed. She wanted to knock their heads together. She didn’t know how to voice what it was that made her feel so strongly toward Kyla, but she didn’t want her friends to ruin any chance she had of seeing her again. She turned back to the girl in question, awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ear where it had come loose from her messy bun. “I’m sorry about them.”  
  
“It’s okay.” Kyla went to get out of the car as the figure by the door called out to ask if she was okay. A spike of anxiety made Rey’s breath catch in her throat.  
  
Without thinking, Rey blurted out, “Wait! Do… do you want my phone number? You seem really cool, and I’m kinda short on female friends.” She motioned awkwardly to Finn and Poe. “It would be great to go out for a coffee or something sometime. And... and... I work at a mechanic's. I'd be happy to show you around the cars sometime.”  
  
Kyla’s smile was as warm as a summer breeze. Relief made Rey’s shoulders slump.  
  
“I think… I think would like that. Thank you.”  
  
Before Rey could respond, the car door opened, and the severe-looking woman appeared, grabbing Kyla by the scruff of her tank top, and hauling her out.  
  
“I don’t know what you fancy-car fucks are doing in this neighbourhood with my flatmate, but you can fuck off and leave her alone,” she growled, staring down Poe and Finn, “You’ve been in there long enough. You were very nice for driving her home, but she isn’t interested in your threesome fantasies.” She slammed the door. Poe wound down the window as the big woman turned to Kyla. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah, Phasma, I’m fine. Look, do you have a pen?” Rey’s hopes shot up again.  
  
“A pen?” The big woman raised a sparse, blond eyebrow.  
  
“Please? I’ll explain later. Promise.”  
  
“You know where the pen pot is.” Phasma nodded to the apartment door. Kyla gave her a dirty look and raced up the stairs and inside. Finn crawled into the front seat beside his boyfriend. Meanwhile, the brawny blond stood guard, her powerful arms crossed, looking far more intimidating than the bouncers in the bar. Rey was reminded, rather curiously, of the red-headed bastard’s twin grunts. It was almost ironic for the girl to go home to a woman who looked like her enemy’s henchmen.  
  
Phasma stared at the car, soundless, still scowling. The deep lines between her eyebrows implied it was an expression she wore often.  
  
Poe leaned out of the open car window and looked at her. Finn looked at him worriedly. Poe with that expression could only lead to trouble.  
  
The blond woman glared back.  
  
“So...Phasma,” Poe said brightly, trying to make conversation in a way only Poe could, “Who talks first? You talk first? I talk first?”  
  
She said nothing.  
  
“Phasma,” Poe tried again, “Unique name.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Does it have a special meaning? Did your parents just want something original? I hear that’s the trend in baby-naming nowadays. Your parents were ahead of their time.”  
  
Still, silence.  
  
“How far ahead of their time? I mean, how old are you? Mid-twenties? Mid-forties? It’s kinda hard to tell with you. You’re kinda hard to read.”  
  
The scowl deepened. Still, she said nothing.  
  
“My parents didn’t think my name through very well,” Poe continued blithely, “My name comes from an old nickname for ‘peacock’, and means a loud, strutting, vain dandy.”  
  
Finn coughed pointedly. Rey rolled her eyes. Phasma remained silent.  
  
Mercifully, the awkwardness was broken by Kyla coming flying down the stairs again, clutching a pen and a pad of paper.  
  
“Here,” she said breathlessly, pressing a notepaper into Rey’s hand through the open back window, “Just in case.”  
  
“Thanks.” Rey took the pad and pen from her and scrawled her number down.  
  
“Hey,” It was Kyla’s turn to look bashful and awkward, and she shifted her weight on her feet, running a hand through her long hair “Thanks for… for leaving that shit with a broken nose.”  
  
“My pleasure,” Rey grinned, “See you around?”  
  
“See you around. It was nice to meet you, Rey.”  
  
“It was nice to meet you, too, Kyla. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Kyla walked back to join her flatmate at the apartment door. As Poe wound up the windows and the Mustang pulled away, they heard the blond woman’s gruff voice bellow, “What the fuck was that about?” followed by Kyla’s peals of slightly-hysterical laughter.  
  
Finn looked over at Rey, who was grinning quietly to herself, passing her phone back and forth from hand to hand idly.  
  
“So,” he said, turning around to glance at Rey in the backseat, “Looks like the knight in shining brown cardigan got a date.”  
  
“What?” Rey whipped her head to look at him. “No! Wait... What?! No!”  
  
“C’mon… random girls in bar bathrooms don’t give their phone numbers to just ANYONE… especially not our girl, Rey,” Poe added from the driver’s seat, wiggling his eyebrows at her in the rear-view mirror, “She’s /far/ too independent.”  
  
Rey stuck her tongue out at her friends. She endured their good-natured teasing on the ride home, and then bid them good night as soon as they got in, shutting the door of her bedroom, and rolling her eyes as she heard them giggling down the hall to the room they shared. Poe's Jack Russel puppy started barking, eager to be let into the boys' room to curl up on the end of their bed.  
  
About half an hour later, In her pyjamas, lying in bed, Rey thought about the girl in the bar. She thought about how good it had felt to protect her, how fierce and fearless she had felt facing off with the bastard who dared hurt her, how desperately she had clung to Rey when offered comfort, how fragile she had felt in her arms, that desperate sense of protectiveness Rey had felt. She thought, too, about how the light shone on the silky waves of dark hair, how full her lips were under their coat of red lipstick, how elegant the lines of her pale throat.  
  
She took a breath and turned over, staring at her bedroom wall. She had promised Kyla that she wouldn’t take advantage of her, that she didn’t want anything from her. She remembered the way that red-headed shit had touched her, and cold dread settled in her stomach. Kyla had probably had a lifetime of people trying to abuse her. Rey knew the stats; 50% of trans people were victim of sexual violence, and that was just the ones that were known about. Thinking back on it, examining her thoughts now, she felt like a pervert.  
  
Was exchanging phone numbers a mistake? Was Finn right, and Kyla had really been asking her on a date? If so, was it because the chemistry Rey had felt was really reciprocated, or because Kyla still felt like she owed her something, or because Kyla had felt pressured or taken aback by Rey asking and didn’t know how to say no, or because Kyla just wanted to see the cars Rey had talked about, or… or…?  
  
Rey made her thoughts stop spinning. Kyla had had her (truly intimidating and apparently also very overprotective) flatmate right there. She would have been safe if she had just gone into the apartment, but no, she had gone out of her way to get a pen and paper and given her number to Rey as well. Maybe Finn was right. Even if he wasn’t, maybe she had made a new friend, and that wasn’t any less important. She had trouble making friends, and she didn’t have many. She had Finn and Poe, and Rose, the only other girl who worked at the mechanic’s shop, and that was just about it. She hated admitting it, but she was lonely.  
  
Rey didn’t know what to think about that. She decided to go with thinking nothing and trying to get some sleep.  
  
Closing her eyes, Rey let herself hope, hope for a friend, hope for reciprocated affection, hope for a chance to connect to another person. She remembered a quote that she had read, she couldn’t remember where: “Hope is like the sun; if you only believe in it when you can see it, you will never make it through the night.”


End file.
